


Bones and All

by peppermintquartz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Freddie Lounds the Schrodinger Reporter, Hannigram - Freeform, I Don't Even Know, M/M, More Than Usual, Will makes a choice, hannibal is besotted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: “Bones and all?” Will asked.“Bones and all,” Hannibal replied.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts from the blowjob - i mean, ortolan eating scene.

“Bones and all?” Will asked.

“Bones and all,” Hannibal replied.

The moment before Will opened his mouth, he caught sight of the doctor's hungry gaze. Hannibal was not hungry for the tiny morsel; it was for _him_ , the man whom he thought had embraced killing. Opening his mouth to place the entire bird inside made Will's heart race, as though the soul of the tiny songbird was fluttering within the cage of his ribs.

The fragile bones of the ortolan buntings crunched in his teeth. He could feel tiny fragments from the broken bones prick uselessly against the inside of his cheeks and his tongue. The flavor was _decadent:_ the Armagnac, used to drown and marinade the bird; the nutty, gamy juices that dribbled from the flesh; the sweetness of figs.

His reluctant delight must have shown in his face. Even as Hannibal savored his own ortolan bunting, his keen gaze never wavered from Will's expressions. He drank them in with the same fervor as a drowning man at an oasis.

The tastes of the ortolan must be that much stronger for Hannibal Lecter then. Will was the songbird he had chosen. Kept in the dark, fed with the heady lies of companionship and friendship and, Lord knows, even the early stirrings of love. Then left to drown: his brain cooking in its own juices, then the frame job that threatened to destabilize him even further and perhaps tilt him into madness.

Will's refusal to go down fighting must have been as the tiny pricks of bone in Hannibal's mouth. Will had clawed and gouged for every inch of sanity. Only after Will had drawn blood through the hands of Matthew did Hannibal view him differently.

More than a delicacy for his table.

Once the mouthful had gone down his throat, Will found himself both ashamed and deeply aroused. Not physically, no, but a heat that spread from his diaphragm into his veins that echoed the same rush of dark delight when he beat the life out of Randall Tier. The frisson of exultation as he stalked Freddie Lounds and dragged that redheaded bitch out of her car.

No wonder the diners of the past ate with their heads veiled, hidden from God.

“Alana came to see me today,” Will said. “She thinks you are not good for me and that our relationship is, quote-unquote, destructive.”

“Is it?” The doctor's eyes softened in a secretive smile.

“Destructive to others, perhaps,” said Will. He drank his wine and licked his lips. Perhaps it was a deliberate act of his subconscious, but he watched Hannibal immediately focus on his mouth and felt victorious. It was confusing, the sense of triumph, but the sensation lingered.

Hannibal seemed to have to avert his gaze. “What did you tell her, then?”

“That you were good enough for _her_.”

“Cruel, Will. Very cruel.”

“I'm not wrong,” Will remarked. He let a smile float to the surface. “And my cruelty excites you.”

Hannibal's reply was just a soft smile.

*****

Will helped to take the dishes into the kitchen after dessert (a simple tiramisu – or as simple as Hannibal's dinners ever got) and wondered about his options.

He could go to Jack. Use the ortolans as an excuse. They grabbed Al Capone with tax evasion, after all. But he has no desire to go to Jack at all. The lack of desire to see justice done should worry him, yet he felt calm.

“Lost in thought, I see.” Hannibal came to his side and placed the plates in the sink. His jacket had been left in the dining room, and his sleeves rolled up. Curiously casual, for Hannibal. He ran water over his hands – strong hands that had been so gentle in treating Will's cut knuckles, yet capable of inexhaustible cruelty. “May I offer a penny for your thoughts? Or is that too little a sum?”

Will snorted. “You've always been able to discern my thoughts without my input, Hannibal.”

“You surprise me, from time to time.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Hannibal paused, like Will's flippant rejoinder was worth his consideration. After a moment, the doctor said, “It makes me feel alive. That there are things in the world that I cannot predict entirely.”

The younger man looked at him. “You found your life dull, before me.”

“Not dull, exactly, but too predictable. Routine is... useful, in its way, but as in all things an excess of routine can be stultifying.”

“My routines were disrupted by Jack, and then by you.”

“I wonder which of us you regret meeting more?”

“One of you shot me, and the other of you lied to me about my encephalitis, framed me and put me in Chilton's loving care. Gee, I wonder?”

Hannibal chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He stepped closer to Will. Warmth radiated from the man and Will leaned into the heat. It felt good. It shouldn't feel good, but it did.

They did the dishes together, Hannibal washing and Will drying. When they said goodbye at Hannibal's door, Will wished it had been goodnight.

He was angry at himself all the way home.

*****

The next morning, Hannibal opened the door to see Will waiting.

“Good morning,” said the younger man. He strode in. “I called in sick. Is it possible for you to do the same?”

Bemused, Hannibal asked, “Why would I need to do that?”

“Because,” Will said, turning around to face Hannibal directly, “I am asking you to. Is that reason enough?”

“More than.” The doctor went to his study to call and cancel.

The urge to run thrummed wildly in Will's chest. He should, he really should, he could not imagine what he was thinking to have come here this early with the wild plan in his head. He had gone to bed with a mild headache, trying to work out his feelings and thoughts towards Hannibal, and this morning he had woken up _needing_ to see the doctor. The hour's drive had not dampened the yearning; if anything, it blinded Will to all other thought.

Hannibal returned to him shortly. “I told them I had a medical emergency with another patient. They've agreed to reschedule.”

“I appreciate that.” Will truly did. He walked up to Hannibal and grabbed him by his hideous tie, tugging him down for a fierce, wild kiss. It should not have felt as good as it did. It should have been a punishment for Will's many transgressions of his moral code. He forced his way into Hannibal's mouth with his tongue, his teeth scraping over Hannibal's lower lip.

But Hannibal _yielded_ to Will's handling, giving in to the younger man's rough treatment with an astounding grace. He slipped out of his coat and skated his hands down to Will's hips, dragging him close.

It was getting out of hand. Will groaned and pulled away with a hiss. “I have... a confession to make.”

Hannibal chased after Will's mouth one more time before he gave them both some space. “What confession do you have that could not wait, that drove you all the way to my home this early in the morning?”

Here it was, the metaphorical fork in the road. Will could lie, snare Hannibal deeper. Jack would understand. Will was the lure, after all. He could talk about how he had tossed and turned all night imagining how it would feel to kiss Hannibal. To show up Alana, prove to her that their relationship was anything but destructive.

He chose not to. Instead, he whispered, “Freddie Lounds is still alive.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The ardor in Hannibal's gaze faded, but did not disappear entirely. Will felt a little heady with satisfaction.

“The slim and delicate pig?” he asked.

“Tier,” said Will.

The doctor let go of Will and bent at the waist to pick up the coat he had let fall to the floor. The grace and economy of movement fascinated Will, as it always did whenever he had the opportunity to observe Hannibal in his environment. He knew himself to be ungainly and clumsy, residing too often in his mind and not frequently enough in his body to be comfortable anywhere.

The longer Hannibal took to speak, the more Will wondered if he had done the right thing. He had known the truth would lead to a seismic change in his relationship with Hannibal, but he could not _not_ tell it. Not after last night, not after the way Hannibal had looked at him with reverent devotion, not after the way Will had dreamed of the way Hannibal's heat enveloped his heart and kept it aflame.

Hannibal put the coat over the back of an armchair and turned to face Will. “You are working with Jack.”

“Jack's working with me.”

“Interesting that you'd say that.”

“After what you'd done to me, did you think you could get to walk away without my exacting a pound of flesh in return?” The younger man did not retreat as Hannibal advanced on him. Not an inch did he back away even when he could practically feel Hannibal's breath. “I wanted, so much, to _flay_ you. Jack is my chance to take from you what you've taken from me.”

“And what have I taken from you, Will?” Hannibal was so close now, it was intoxicating. The reins of Will's control over his words snapped.

“Freedom,” Will responded without hesitation. “You took my freedom from me. And you took over the sanctity of my mind, insinuated your presence into every crack and crevice. I can't think without your voice in my head. You are _everywhere_ , Hannibal, and I – I only want to return the favor.”

It was meant to come out as an accusation. It sounded like a confession of love.

Hannibal closed the distance between them.

This kiss was more restrained, but much more passionate than before. Hannibal walked Will back, back, back, until the younger man hit a wall, and the doctor immediately pressed against him with his entire body.

Will felt caged in, safe and free all at once. His hands which had been clutching the doctor's shoulders for balance now looped around to grip fine silver-blond hair. Their mouths slid from each other's to explore jaws, earlobes, necks; the remarkable control that Hannibal always exhibited was gone. Hannibal tore Will's jacket from him and threw it to the side, pulling at the hem of younger man's shirt so he could skate his warm hands up to feel bare skin.

Will gasped in a breath as he felt Hannibal's thigh press between his legs. He was not ready for this, his whole body straining both to surrender and to fight. He let go of the older man and pushed at his strong shoulders. “Hannibal, Hannibal stop, please.”

Hannibal stopped but did not step away. He was disheveled as he regarded Will calmly, and pressed his brow to the younger man's forehead. His breath came in soft, warm pants, and his lips reddened and plush.

“You have to decide what you want from me, Will,” Hannibal said. His accent was made deeper by the huskiness of his voice. “You – you think I insinuated myself into your mind to _ruin_ you? I wanted to see you, know you. I had to strive so hard to even locate the slightest chink in your armor. Your forts were impenetrable, until the encephalitis. I invaded your mind because I had to. I had to, Will, because you've conquered mine entirely without even _trying._ How do you think that made me feel?”

The longing and love was unmistakable now. Will gulped in air and sagged against the wall, held up mostly by Hannibal's arms around him. He gripped Hannibal's shoulders, his fingers clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

“You don't – you don't get to blame what you did on _me_ ,” said Will harshly. “You let my brain boil, Hannibal. You knew I had encephalitis and hid it from me.”

“No, but that was my motivation. I wanted to be in you as you are in me.” Hannibal leaned in to mouth slow kisses at Will's temple. “I had initially only desired to see what happened. But since Matthew's attack on me – _your_ attack on me, using Matthew – I acknowledged what I have long tried to ignore.”

A glimmer of triumph flared inside Will. He was right – it had taken Matthew Brown nearly killing Hannibal for the latter to see Will was not just another toy. And on the heels of triumph was shame. He had sent Matthew after Hannibal out of a desire to avenge Beverly, and now he was choosing to stand with Beverly's murderer...

“I don't know how to feel about all this,” Will admitted. He shut his eyes. “I thought... This was not supposed to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?”

“I'd hoped that you would attack me. For lying to you. Give me a reason to-to fight back, to choose Jack, again.”

Hannibal's hold tightened. “Look at me, Will.”

The younger man opened his eyes. Hannibal's expression was open in a way that showed how well he had masked himself before. Will almost flinched from how much he could see now. It was like staring into a spotlight.

_Hope. Longing. Understanding. Respect. Compassion. Desire._

_Love. Blinding, all-consuming, unreasonable love. Illogical to the extreme._

“I want to put you where you cannot affect me any more,” Will murmured, the words pulled from the deepest reaches of his heart. “But now I know... even were you behind bars you'd still be in my head, whispering to me.”

Hannibal's smile grew. He brushed his lips over Will's mouth, worshipful and full of yearning. “You have flayed me open with honesty, Will. Let me return the favor.”

“What do you mean?” Will breathed out, heart hammering.

“I have withheld truths of my own.”

“Lied.”

“Omitted.”

“Really?” Will smiled, sardonic. “Even now, you're arguing semantics.”

The doctor chuckled again and stepped back, smoothing down his shirt and sweeping his hair back into some semblance of order. He picked up Will's jacket as the younger man tucked his shirt in and straightened his collar. Helping Will into his jacket – entirely unnecessary, but Will trembled as Hannibal slid his hands over his shoulders and down his arms – Hannibal said, “We have a place to visit, you and I. And then, we can decide what to do with Freddie Lounds.”

Will said aloud, “She thinks she can use me and us. Me and Jack. For a story on you. She's waiting to not be dead.”

“For now she has to be both,” Hannibal said. “Alive and not alive.”

The pause after that was telling, yet Will dared not read too much into it. Hope was a persistent bastard, however, and squeezed into the chambers of his heart.

“There is someone else alive and not alive,” Will whispered. “Isn't there?”

Hannibal only took his keys and led Will to the door. “Come with me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

They did not listen to music in the Bentley, and the silence was fraught with both anticipation and dread. Will sat still as a rock, but internally he was anything but serene. His mind chanted _Abigail Abigail Abigail_ all through the long drive to the unknown destination.

It occurred to him briefly that if Hannibal Lecter took him away from Baltimore into some secluded place to kill him, no one would know or even suspect until the doctor was far from the United States. It did not matter to Will. If Hannibal wished to kill him now, Will would fight back, give the Chesapeake Ripper a good hunt, and perhaps turn the tables and hunt him instead.

_May the better predator win._

In the car, Hannibal looked every bit as warm and welcoming as he always had done, even now that their masks had been ripped off to reveal that both of them were made of sharp bones and deadly teeth. Yet Hannibal had not hidden himself. He had shown his true colors in his tastes: his clothes, his décor, his food, his music, his art. Every element of this was present in his real art of murder. Elevation of the mundane, a rejection of the banal. Will felt foolish for not considering that this placid, eccentric gentleman could also be the vicious artist of blood and bone, and pitied all the rest who were still fools.

Will could feel himself changing with every mile further from Baltimore, from Wolf Trap; metamorphosing from the conflicted teacher and sometime Special Agent Graham to Hannibal's ' _Dear Will_ '. Everything that had entangled him before fell away the longer he spent in Hannibal's company, like crusted blood washed from the blade of his being. He had said that every moment of cogent thought when speaking with Hannibal was a victory. He considered that statement again, and wondered why he had needed to fight against the current of Hannibal's intent. Why it felt so important to remain cloaked and armored in what used to be Will Graham before Hannibal.

He had not been happy before, other than for the quiet moments stolen with the dogs. He had been alone, and lonely, and it did not escape his notice that Hannibal probably felt the same. Only where Will shielded himself with isolation and dogs, the doctor put himself among his prey and took what little companionship he could from them.

Eventually they pulled up at a house that seemed to be made of sharp geometric lines and clear glass, utterly unlike Hannibal's ornate, imposing home or Will's lived-in cottage. It reminded Will of knives and ice.

As they stepped outside, Will heard the roar of waves crashing on a shore far below, and tasted brine in the air. _Sea change_ , he thought, and swallowed convulsively against the threat of tears.

“She's inside?” Will asked, once he was satisfied that his voice would come out steady.

Hannibal held out a key. “If you want to know the fate of the cat, you have to open Schrodinger's box.”

*****

Abigail was sitting at a desk, her back to the door, when they found her in a room to the rear of the house, facing the sea.

Will's breath stuttered and his heart leaped into his throat. He stopped outside the threshold of the door, half terrified that she would dissolve into static if he took another step forward.

_Abigail Abigail Abigail._

She was a silhouette against the light, her long dark hair concealing her missing left ear, and so focused was she that she had not registered the presence of the two men. Will could hear her pencil scratching over paper, and wondered if she was writing or drawing. He wondered if she knew how to draw.

When Hannibal knocked on the open door, Abigail jumped in her seat.

“Will!” she exclaimed, eyes wide and delighted. “Hannibal, you brought Will!”

The light of her smile filled the empty place in Will's heart, erasing the hollow aching guilt he had endured whenever he thought of her and her death, and that Hannibal had deliberately chosen to end her life because she was important to him.

They hugged, awkwardly at first, and then he clung to her and breathed her in. _Alive. Alive alive alive alive alive._

 _Alive_ smelled like wind off the sea, and a vague hint of vanilla and jojoba. _Alive_ was a sweet, shy laugh and fingers clutching the back of his shirt.

 _Alive_ was this moment, with the sea rushing and ebbing far beneath them, and the cry of a lone seagull too high above the house to be seen.

*****

Abigail and Will spent the rest of the day talking. Hannibal gave them space and time, while he puttered around in the kitchen. They could hear Bach and Chopin wafting in from the open door, but neither got up to close it. It made Will feel as though Hannibal was in the room with them.

“I didn't know what to do, so I did what he told me to,” she admitted when she described what happened in Minnesota. Her eyes were downcast.

Will wanted to touch the lump where her ear had been. He remembered how it had felt coming out of his esophagus, and how it looked in his sink. How his mind seemed to be vibrating out of his skull, how gentle and careful Hannibal had been comforting him and holding his hand through the entire ordeal of the FBI arriving, and then the nightmares he suffered in the BSHCI after and after and after.

How much rage he had kept bottled inside him whenever Hannibal came to see him there. How much he had wanted to strangle the doctor, feel the fragile cartilage of Hannibal's neck give way.

Nearly all that anger had gone, erased by the simple and uncomplicated joy of Abigail, alive.

“I missed you,” he said. It captured all he meant and not nearly enough of what he felt.

Abigail smiled and squeezed his hand. There was a confidence about the way she would meet his eyes. Somehow, dying gave her new life, again. “I missed you too.”

“You're safe now, but you're dead to the rest of the world. You can never go back to being Abigail Hobbs.”

“I can be anyone else,” she replied. “I don't want to be my father's daughter any longer. He's given me nothing but death.”

Will wanted to ask if she would be his daughter, but bit his tongue. He had nothing to offer her but death, too.

*****

Dinner was fish that Abigail had caught, with a simple salad and baked carrots and potatoes. She had been very proud of providing for herself, in fact. There was even a small vegetable garden in the backyard.

“No one comes here,” she told Will.

Hannibal smiled. “Except us, and you didn't even notice.”

“I was writing,” she said accusingly but fondly. “But only you have the key, and nearly all the windows face the sea.”

“You've visited?” Will asked Hannibal.

Hannibal shook his head. “Only twice. Once when I brought her here, and a second time with the items she had requested.”

Abigail grinned, looking younger than the nineteen-year-old she was. “It's amazing how productive you can be without the internet. No wonder you can do all the things you do, Hannibal.”

“I do use the internet.”

“Only for Tattlecrime. I bet you read it for coverage on all those gruesome murders,” she told the doctor.

Hannibal pretended to be annoyed, but a genuine smile played on his lips. “I am certainly guilty of that.”

Will felt as though his heart was about to burst. That had been a real smile, the sentiment underlying the conversation genuine and honest and so very much like family that Will could cry from it.

Hannibal still owed him for Beverly, for the incarceration under Chilton's care, for the other innocent lives he had taken without hesitation. But somehow Will could not summon the righteous anger he needed if he wanted to go to Jack.

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._

 


	4. Chapter 4

Hadyn played serenely on their drive back to Baltimore, where Will had left his car.

Will stared into the blackness beyond the shadows of the trees, his mind in a whirl. Too many thoughts crowded in and jostled for his attention, each one screaming to dominate. The inside of his head was deafening.

“Stop the car,” he said. “Stop the car now.”

If Hannibal was surprised by the request, he did not show it. Before the Bentley had stopped fully, Will unbuckled himself and opened the door. He nearly stumbled as he exited, but after he took a few paces from the car, he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as he fought to regain control of his breathing. Nausea clawed at his throat, a ghost of a memory that would not be shaken.

“Will,” said Hannibal, oddly cautious in his approach. “What's wrong?”

“You – you fed me her _ear_ ,” Will spat out. It was not what he had intended to say, but now that the words had fallen from his lips, he could not stop. “You _drugged_ me and you fed me _her ear_ , Hannibal, you cut it off her and you _fed_ it to _me_ , and you ask me what's wrong?”

By the car, Hannibal stood with a slight tilt of his head. “She gave full consent to my taking her ear.”

“You don't even see how _fucked up_ this all is,” Will snarled. “How fucked up you are to think – and I can't... I can't. I can't look at you, I can't talk to you right now, this is _insanity_ -” Unable to bear the tumult in his head, Will took off into the woods. Maybe the darkness would silence his head.

“Will!”

*****

The ground was uneven and Will nearly fell a few times, but he never did. He lost track of how long he tore through the woods. Some stray twigs had scratched across his face, one had ripped through a knee of his pants, and still he ran.

Until he came to a clearing, and on the other side, a cliff, the ocean roaring below it.

The wind was cold and bit at his ears and nose. His cheeks were damp; Will didn't even realize he had been crying. His legs trembled and he collapsed to his knees.

“So fucking melodramatic, Graham,” he whispered to himself, and exhaled a short, humorless laugh.

His psychiatrist, his friend, his tormentor, all the same person. The Chesapeake Ripper was Hannibal Lecter, _and Will had fallen for him._

Fallen for the man who cut off the ear of a girl who was important to Will and fed it to him.

He remembered the retching, the utter horror he felt when he saw what was in the sink. The belief that he had gone over the edge, that his mind was no longer his own. That he was insane.

That he was a killer.

_If I go over this cliff,_ he mused, _it would solve so many problems._ _We are FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all redemption._

_But Abigail. Alive._

He felt rather than heard another presence in the clearing. It should astound him, how he could sense Hannibal so acutely, but now he realized he had attuned himself to Hannibal ever since the day Hannibal killed Tobias Budge in self-defense. Purported self-defense. Budge had stood no chance against the alpha predator of Baltimore, come to think of it.

But the wounded, relieved gaze Hannibal had shown him when Will came to the office afterwards, when Hannibal was bleeding and bruised... That had not been an act. Will had felt  _something_ then, something from the doctor. He had thought it was friendship. 

“You run well for someone who spends his days in an office,” said Will. He sat down, closed his eyes, and listened to the waves breaking upon rock. “You should have let me go.”

Hannibal came to stand behind him. “If you think I'd let you lose yourself in the shadowy wood, you are mistaken.”

Will snorted. “I have been mistaken about too many things. One more won't make a difference. I could end my life here and it won't make any difference.”

“It makes a difference to me.”

“Why, Hannibal?”

The older man seemed to turn into a statue, silent and still as stone. The moment dragged out until finally Hannibal said, “Because.”

_Because._ The only answer he could give. Hannibal knew no better than Will why the latter should matter to him. Will pressed his forehead to his bent knees. He could smell the salt in the air, the dirt on his pants, and Hannibal, who was now kneeling beside him. A hand rested gently on top of his head and he laughed to himself, realizing that it was all hopeless. They were too entangled now.

“If I jumped, would you come for me?” Will asked, angling his face to the side for his words to be audible.

“Yes.”

There had been no hesitation. Will peered at Hannibal, and then grabbed him by the back of his head.

This kiss was feral desire and desperate punishment. Will bit at the other man's lips and tongue, clawed at his clothes. He ran rough fingers up the back of Hannibal's head, grabbing a fistful of hair, and tugged, baring the doctor's neck. Will latched onto the exposed skin and sucked, hard, as though trying to draw blood all the way from Hannibal's jugular into his mouth. His teeth bore down but never sank in; his pulse thundered in his ears. Hannibal tasted of nothing unique, but Will's tongue prodded and ran over that bit of skin he had in his mouth anyway.

His mind was static and electric, alive but blessedly, blessedly silent.

Hannibal lay quiescent to his manhandling, his strong hands resting on Will's shoulders for balance and nothing more. His breathing grew harder, less controlled, and as Will sucked, soft sounds began crawling out from him.

When Will finally released the abused bit of skin, they were both panting hard. Hannibal rubbed his thumb over a cut on the younger man's cheek and then licked what little bit of blood he could get.

Will ran his hand through his hair and stood up. He was aroused, but he was not going to do anything about it tonight. The psychiatrist gazed up at him, adoration and curiosity in equal measure, tinted with something _other_ that was entirely Hannibal Lecter.

“I suppose you remember where you've parked the car,” Will said, staring right into the abyss of Hannibal's eyes. He felt himself fall.

It felt like flying.

*****

“Freddie's funeral is in the morning,” said Will when they were back at his car. It was silent now, it being nearly two in the morning. They were both standing by the Bentley, neither truly wishing to separate.

Hannibal's smile sliced like a knife into flesh. “It would be therapeutic for you to be there.”

“And you?”

“I had appointments that I canceled today, for you. I have a duty to my patients, and Freddie Lounds is not worth my time.”

“Not the fake one, in any case,” Will muttered. He turned to go to his car, and then strode back to Hannibal. Before the older man could speak, Will tugged him close and kissed him again, just a firm press of their mouths, and then he slipped away.

He could see Hannibal touching his lips with his fingers from his rearview mirror as he started up the car.

*****

“There's all sorts of reasons why I'd go to Freddie Lounds' funeral,” said Will.

Alana stared at the service not too far away. “What reason are you here for?”

“It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death. Attend funerals, return to crime scenes,” Will stated, his tone bordering nonchalance.

Alana eyed him, expressionless and cold. “Anyone suspicious?”

“Besides me?”

“That was implied.”

Will returned her gaze. “You were expecting me.”

“It's common for a killer to revisit their victims after death,” Alana parroted his words, right down to his intonation.

Irked by her doggedness, he decided to sink in the knife. “I'm here because my psychiatrist suggested it would be therapeutic.”

That felt too good. Alana was a friend, or she used to be; Will wanted to be ashamed of himself. Perhaps he would be if he told her that he had kissed Hannibal. What would she say then? He turned on a heel and walked away before he could give in to the temptation of taunting her. His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.

It was Hannibal.

“I just mentioned you in a conversation,” he said, by way of greeting.

“ _And your name came up in a conversation I was having with a patient.”_

“Isn't there something called 'doctor-patient confidentiality', Dr Lecter?” Will asked. He realized it sounded almost like he was flirting. Perhaps he was.

Sounding almost amused, Hannibal said, _“There is. However, she has requested that I contact you. Could you come to my office, please?”_

“Right now?”

“ _Yes.”_

“Who is there with you?”

“ _Margot Verger.”_

A trickle of foreboding trailed down Will's spine. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“ _Drive safely, Will.”_


	5. Chapter 5

Margot did not beat about the bush. The instant she saw Will shut the door, she said with eerie calm, “I'm pregnant.”

"Do you say that to everyone who walks through this door, or just me?" Will did not insult her intelligence by asking if it was his. He knew that he would not be involved otherwise. Standing just inside the door, he studied the brunette. Pregnancy – even at this early stage – agreed with her. Or perhaps the flush to her cheeks was due to her inner triumph... over what? Glancing at Hannibal, he said, “I suppose you planted the idea.”

“And you planted the seed,” Hannibal rejoined, a tiny flicker of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Margot told me that you tried your best to satisfy her... given her proclivities.”

Margot rolled her large eyes, as if to say, _Men._

“I was lonely, and you were with Alana then.” Will shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on his usual hook on the stand, before he did a mental double-take at the notion that he _had_ a usual hook. “When did you find out?” This question was directed at Margot, though he was looking at Hannibal.

Margot clasped her hands together in her lap, the only sign that she felt vulnerable in any way. “Yesterday. Six tests, all positive. I cannot go to my gynecologist for a doctor's confirmation since I am sure she is in my brother's very deep pockets.”

Hannibal was resting against his table, amusement rippling off him. This was all a game to him, this feud between Margot and her brother Mason. Will almost resented him then for being able to shut off his empathy so easily. Will could already feel a brimming sense of protectiveness over the child which was, at this early stage, hardly anything more than a bundle of cells, rapidly multiplying and dividing and multiplying again.

He could let Hannibal play his game, of course. That was why the doctor had called him down here anyway. He could let Hannibal play both Mason and Margot, watch the siblings claw each other to the bone.

In the end, Will made the decision. “Margot, you can't go back home to the Verger estate.”

“What? Why?”

“If I can tell just by looking at you that you're pregnant, I guarantee that your brother, if he is as you say, will not miss it either. You need to find a safe place to stay.” He dared Hannibal to interject. When the older man said nothing, Will went on, “Do you have access to some money?”

Margot looked wary. “I have my credit cards. I can draw out some cash.”

“Take all you can. I'll take you to do it, and then I will personally take you to a safe house.” He hesitated. He had no guarantee that the person he was thinking of would take Margot in, but he had to try. “Is Mason's life that important?”

It took Margot several minutes before she could answer. “In nine months, I can decide if he dies. But between now and then, I need him out of the way.”

The corners of Hannibal's eyes crinkled. “I think Will has some ideas. Let's get you to someplace safe first, Margot. After all, that's my lover's child you're carrying now.” The possessive tone in the doctor's voice alarmed Will, but Margot did not notice.

“No.” Margot's face was set. “It's mine. Will can come and visit, but he will not be the legal father.”

Will took Hannibal by his wrist and squeezed lightly. “I prefer it that way.”

*****

Jack Crawford was incredulous when Will explained why Margot needed to stay at the Crawfords for a while.

“You're telling me that Margot Verger, of the Verger meatpacking dynasty, needs sanctuary from her _brother_?” Jack repeated.

“Yes, Jack.” Will glanced at the woman, wrapped in her luxurious coat, her dewy eyes large and incurious. Margot was good at locking down her fear.

_Practice makes perfect, after all._

Jack made a face. “My wife is ill.”

“You are also FBI. Mason Verger would hardly dare to darken your doorstep,” said Will. He lowered his voice and added, “And Hannibal wants an excuse to kill Mason. Margot Verger's plight is a very good reason for Hannibal to act.”

That caught Jack's attention. He sighed. “Let me ask Bella. If she says no, it's a no. You find her someone else.”

“Please.”

After Jack headed upstairs to his bedroom to speak with his wife, Margot ventured closer to Will. “You're putting me in FBI custody?”

“Not FBI custody. I'm placing you under Jack's protection. He is one of the few people your brother would not dare to attack openly, and he has no cause to attack him in an underhanded manner. And this house is well-protected, should they come for you here.” After the Chesapeake Ripper's – Hannibal's – stunt with Miriam Lass' arm, Jack had upgraded his entire security system, and installed additional alarms that Bella could trigger from the bed.

Jack walked down the stairs and smiled kindly at Margot. “Miss Verger? My wife would like to meet you.”

Margot glanced at Will, who urged her to follow Jack upstairs. He made himself comfortable at the dining table. The centerpiece had acquired a thin layer of dust, he noted.

Then Jack returned, sans Margot. “She's welcome to stay.”

“And I will go,” said Will.

“You're sure you want to leave the future mother of your future child here, Will?”

“Mason will come knocking on my door,” said Will with certainty. “He will come and ask questions, about Margot. I cannot have her with me. And if I were to focus on Hannibal, it'll be impossible to sway Hannibal to act if there was a third party present.”

Jack sighed again, a heavy exhalation of concern. “Be careful, Will.”

“Always.”

*****

Hannibal was already making dinner in Will's kitchen when the younger man returned. The dogs were waiting quietly for scraps; only Winston walked over to push his head against Will's knee.

“Honey, I'm home,” Will called out, only half in jest.

Hannibal looked up from the chopping board to smile at Will. “How was Bella?”

“I didn't see her,” said Will, walking around the counter to snare an arm around Hannibal's trim waist. He rested his cheek on the doctor's broad shoulder, enjoying the momentary tensing of the muscles under his touch. “They took her in. I suppose having Margot around will keep Bella company while Jack is working.”

Hannibal turned his head so his breath tickled Will's hair. “And how are you?”

Will made a noncommittal sound. He didn't know how he felt. He'd attended a false funeral, received a real surprise, and begun a dangerous game, playing Jack against the Vergers. “What's for dinner?”

“Stir-fried pork with bell peppers,” said Hannibal. He rested one hand delicately over Will's. “Not that I mind our current intimacy, but I will need freedom of motion to complete the meal.”

That made Will laugh, a brief, happy sound, and he kissed Hannibal's neck as a cheeky reply. “I'll grab a shower.”

The easy domesticity only struck Will when he was standing under the lukewarm spray of his shower. He had not even felt the tiniest shred of embarrassment or discomfort at Hannibal's presence in his home. It felt so _right_ : Will returning from work to Hannibal's cooking, a brief exchange of affection, and then back to their daily routines.

It should have been like this.

It _could_ have been like this.

Will squeezed his eyes shut and let the water running over his face hide whatever grief he felt over what might have been.

*****  
They slept in the same bed that night. Somehow the notion that Hannibal should drive home to Baltimore never came up throughout dinner. He had even brought a clean suit for the next day, guarded against dog hair with a plastic garment bag.

They shared a few kisses, nothing as frantic or hungry as the kisses in the woods, and then they had got into their respective pajamas for bed. Will usually slept in just boxers and a thin tee shirt, but decided to pull on pajama pants for the night. He wasn't looking to do more at this point. Neither was Hannibal, apparently. He had an overlarge maroon jumper over loose-fitting sleep pants, and looked far too harmless.

After Will had turned out the lights and climbed into bed, he asked, “Is this alright?”

“More than.”

That had been the end of the discussion. With Hannibal's quiet breathing beside him, their fingers touching, and their body heat filling the inside of the blanket, Will drifted into sleep more quickly than he had done in a long, long time.

He had no dreams.

 


	6. Chapter 6

All of Will's unease returned to him when he woke to the smell of coffee and pancakes.

Instead of rolling out of bed, he turned onto his back to stare unseeing at the ceiling. It was warm under the blanket, the heat of Hannibal's body still lingering like the remnants of a dream.

This was a bad idea. All of it were bad ideas – his decision to side with Hannibal, his revelation about Lounds' existence, his setting the Vergers in Jack Crawford's path.

But Abigail was alive.

Abigail was alive, and Hannibal loved him.

The old Will would have agonized further. Before his incarceration, he would have let the FBI know about Abigail's survival. He would not have chosen to tell Hannibal the truth.

The soft clicking of dog paws roused him from his ruminations.

“I could hear your thinking from the kitchen,” Hannibal said. He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully laid the tray he carried on Will's lap. “Have some breakfast.”

Will sipped the coffee. It was his own crappy coffee, yet it tasted different. Perhaps Hannibal's presence changed it.

“Mason will come for you,” Will said after he had drunk half the mug. His mind rifled through the potential outcomes, weighing and judging how he felt about each of them. “He will try to get you when you are alone. And he won’t play fair.”

“He will not,” Hannibal agreed. He nudged the plate of pancakes at the younger man. “This discussion about Mason Verger can wait until after you’ve washed up and eaten, Will.”

Will decided to be as uncouth as he could, just to pay Hannibal back for cooking him breakfast and making him coffee. He picked up one of the pancakes with his fingers and ate it, gaze fixed on Hannibal and amused at the other man’s tolerant amusement. When he was done, Will licked his fingers and dusted the crumbs off the sheet for Buster to lick from the floor. “Alright. Watch the rest of the pancakes, I need to piss and brush my teeth.”

“You’re incorrigible, Will.”

“That is exactly what I am, Doctor Lecter,” said Will, smiling as he headed for the bathroom to relieve himself.

*****

 _How is this my life?_ Will Graham thought as he paged through an old book on Moroccan architecture. He was safely ensconced in a chair in the kitchenette of Hannibal’s office; the doctor was seeing a patient at the moment.

They had not continued the discussion over breakfast, but Will grabbed his handgun, got into Hannibal’s car and they drove to the latter’s office.

“Is the gun necessary?” the older man asked on the long drive into Baltimore.

“I prefer to bring a gun to a knife match.” Will glanced at Hannibal after that statement. “Don’t worry, Dr Lecter. With you, I’ll use my hands.”

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. They listened to _La bohème_ for the rest of the drive.

Will kept the pocket door to the kitchenette closed, with the tiniest gap to make sure no patient attacked Hannibal. He conscientiously tuned out the conversations otherwise. It was a small space, a galley-style kitchen with butcher block countertops. It had an electric kettle, a French press and a microwave that made Will grin when he saw it. He didn’t even think the doctor knew how to use the appliance.

Instead he made himself some coffee and read. Hannibal came in between patients, and they microwaved their prepared lunch.

“I am not a purist about food, you know,” Hannibal retorted after the younger man teased him.

“No,” Will said, smiling into his tea. “You’re just a humanitarian.”

The doctor kissed him for the impertinent remark.

It was a pleasant, dull day. After the final appointment left, Will emerged to replace the borrowed books back on the shelves on the mezzanine library, while Hannibal checked his appointments for the next day, sharpening a pencil with his scalpel as he did so.

Then two men strode into the office without knocking.

“Buongiorno, dottore,” said the older man.

“Buorngiorno,” said Hannibal, setting down his pencil. His focus narrowed to the two men coming towards him.

Above, Will went absolutely still. He had a biography of Leonardo Da Vinci in his hand, a heavy tome.

The man who spoke first said, “Mr Verger asks for your company.”

The private exit behind Hannibal opened quietly. Will jerked his chin, ready to warn Hannibal, when he saw Hannibal shake his index and middle fingers in a _no_ gesture. _Stay silent_ , the doctor meant.

The man said, “Please. Come with us.”

Hannibal offered a razor-thin smile. “Preferirei di no.” Without waiting, he shifted sideways, just in time to avoid the garrote of the third man who had snuck up behind Hannibal. The third man had caught Hannibal’s hand in the garrote, but the doctor stepped to his right and struck the man with his garroted hand repeatedly, before sweeping out his legs from under him, dropping him to the floor, and jabbed him once more in the throat.

The two men who had come in rushed forward to help, but the older one - the one who had spoken - didn’t expect a thick book to come flying right at his head. He staggered under the blow. The second man yelled something in Italian and ran to the ladder to get up to the mezzanine, but Will shot him in the knee. The man fell, cursing, his blood staining the rug.

Having dispatched of the third assailant, Hannibal charged the first intruder. The man dodged - agile for his apparent age - and then he and Hannibal both froze. Will was already moving down the ladder when he saw the doctor crumple. The man held a taser in his left hand.

Then Will and the man both saw the scalpel sticking out of the man’s groin. The man reached to pull it out.

“Don’t move.” Will pointed his gun at the man. “What does Mason Verger want with Hannibal?”

The man stared at Will’s gun, his hand stopping mid-air. “Just a meeting.”

Will fired a shot between the man’s feet. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Mr Verger... he holds the doctor responsible for Miss Verger’s condition and he wants to know where she is.” The man swallows audibly. Hannibal was getting up, still slightly shaky on his feet. The man continued, “He wants to punish Dr Lecter.”

“I see.” Will lowered his gun and turned to the doctor. “Hannibal, have you packed?”

Hannibal looked at Will. “Yes. Tonight?”

“Once we deal with Mason Verger,” said Will. Steel and ice crept into his veins. _How dare Mason Verger try to take what is not his to claim_ , his mind whispered, silky and dangerous.

The first man suddenly gasped.

“Carlo!” the one that Will shot cried out hoarsely. “Dio mio, che cosa sta succedendo?”

Will didn’t even look away from Hannibal. “He removed the scalpel, didn’t he?”

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. “He really shouldn’t have done that.”

*****

They let Carlo bleed out; Hannibal had returned to the one with the garotte and crushed his trachea; Will hunkered down to look the last man - the man he shot. “You are going to call your employer and give him a very specific message.”

Hannibal’s curiosity was palpable, but the doctor did not speak.

Will went on, “Tell him that Hannibal killed Carlo and that other man before escaping. You are now following him in secret and overheard him calling Miss Verger. He is going to her now and you need backup.”

The man stared at Will. “You are going to kill me anyway.”

“I could be persuaded otherwise.” Will smiled placidly. “That leg is ruined, but we can stop the bleeding and you may still survive. It depends on you, doesn’t it?” He paused and tilted his head. “What is your name?”

“...Matteo.”

“Matteo. You know you chose to work for a very bad man. It so happens that the doctor and I are _worse_ men.” Will stood up and slid his hands into his pockets. Hannibal came up behind him.

Matteo gulped. He took his phone from his pocket.

*****

“I am not convinced that letting that man live is a good idea,” said Hannibal as he and Will headed back to Wolf Trap.

Will was driving. “He took money to do bad things. He’d value his life over whatever Mason can pay him.”

“If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t have tied him to the ladder,” Hannibal said. There was laughter lacing his voice. “Even though you had me bandage his leg.”

Will grinned, genuinely amused. “I hope Abigail will be done packing soon. We’ll head south.” The grin faded to a pensive smile. “I’m going to miss my dogs.”

Hannibal squeezed Will’s knee. He didn’t say a word.

*****

*****

**FBI agent attacked in own home by meatpacking magnate**

By Hugh Powell and Alexia Michaels

_Baltimore Gazette_

 

An agent of the FBI was attacked in his own home by four men hired by Mason Verger, 36, the owner of Verger Meat Solutions. The assailants have been arrested.

Agent Jack Crawford, 48, head of the Behavioral Science Unit, was at home with his wife, Phyllis Crawford, 46 as well as their house guest, Margot Verger, 32, when four armed men broke into the house and demanded for Ms Verger to go with them. When she refused, they threatened to shoot Mrs Crawford, at which point Agent Crawford disarmed them.

The four men who have been arrested are all employees of Verger Meat Solutions. Austinu Bassu, 39, Rafiele Falchi, 33, Cristolu Manca, 32, and Josto Rassu, 45 are employed as slaughterhouse butchers. Police Commissioner Tyrell Johnson says investigations have just begun.

Ms Verger said that she was staying with the Crawfords because her brother made threats on her life. She also accuses Mr Verger of threatening her with a hysterectomy against her consent. The police are looking into her claims.

The FDA has also issued a recall for all pork products processed by Verger Meat Solutions. This is in response to an anonymous tip regarding tainted feed given to the pigs reared on Verger farms. The FDA has not responded to queries about the tainted feed.

*****

_three years later_

*****

Freddie Lounds toweled her hair dry. She had lost track of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham in Argentina, but that wasn’t going to stop her from trying. After all, Mason Verger had walked away from a jail term with a hefty fine, and if Freddie read the cards right, the Murder Husbands would definitely come back to deal with that loose end.

Margot Verger had been very willing to share her story - and both she and Freddie had profited enough that Margot could move all the way to Singapore, far from her brother’s reaches. It was a shame, really. Freddie liked Margot’s steel.

The news coverage on the Verger scandal had all but decimated the Verger fortune. Freddie had a hand in that. Her exposé on Mason feeding human corpses to the pigs had just landed her a plum job at the Baltimore Sun, and her byline ran in the New York Times and Washington Post.

She had yet to unpack completely for her new apartment. Her notes on Abigail Hobbs, for instance, took up an entire box, and her continuing hunt for the Murder Husbands filled another. Her editor had warned her not to be too fixated on Lecter and Graham, but they were her big fish. The two that got away.

Her latest story was on a family killer. Her old instincts were gnawing at her to give this killer a nickname, like _Tooth Fairy_ or something, but it would definitely be cut. She was still new to the paper and would need to tread softly for a while.

The doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock on the wall - twenty minutes past the time her takeout was supposed to arrive. The rain outside must have delayed the delivery man.

 _Delivery woman_ , she noted when she peered through the peephole. The baseball cap obscured part of the woman’s face but she was holding a pizza box in one gloved hand.

“Finally,” Freddie muttered as she opened the door. “I’m starving.”

The delivery woman looked up. “Hello Freddie.”

It was Abigail Hobbs. Abigail Hobbs in a red wig, the scar on her neck faded, and no trace of the fear she used to bear in her eyes.

Stunned, Freddie took the pizza. Then she felt a knife slide into her abdomen, just under her sternum.

Abigail leaned in and whispered, “Hannibal and Will thank you for your report on Mason Verger. They are dealing with him right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the very long delay. At the moment I am fighting depression, with varying levels of success, and am not really able to write creatively. If possible I'd like to write a separate chapter on the assault on Margot and Bella, and how Jack was the Big Damn Hero who saved them.

**Author's Note:**

> [i have written a book! Please consider purchasing one.](https://www.akleewrites.com/)


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